


A Measure Of Correction

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Breathplay, Collars, Comfort, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M, Multiple Partners, Spanking, Sub!Athos, relationship dynamics, tied to the bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt of : “Following the developing headcanon that is Subbiest Sub Athos - Aramis takes him apart (mentally, physically, emotionally), and Porthos puts him back together again. Or the other way around. It's a good night for the OT3. I'm more invested in the emotional impact of BDSM, vs the traditional whips 'n' chains trappings, but I am entirely supportive of any set dressings that anon!auth wishes to employ.”</p><p>Set after S01E10. Athos is having trouble sleeping. Aramis and Porthos have a plan. And if that plan happens to involve collars and spanking and tying Athos to the bed - well. Whatever works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Measure Of Correction

It was Aramis who'd noticed the way Athos' hand would repeatedly stray to his throat, fingers groping unconsciously under the lacings of his shirt until he realised what he was doing and let his hand fall with a frown. 

The locket was gone, and perhaps after all it was only the sudden absence of a thing worn for so long that caused this involuntary reaching for it, more than a need for the thing itself. At least, Aramis hoped so.

A week had passed since Milady had fled Paris, and while Athos certainly looked to a certain extent as if a weight had been lifted from him, he was still noticeably tense and preoccupied. The events that played out had taken a heavy emotional toll on him, and Athos now bore the dark shadows and red eyes of a man who hadn't been sleeping well. 

Aramis had been considering what might be done, and to this end was conversing in low tones with Porthos when Athos found them. He raised an eyebrow as they fell silent at his approach.

"Plotting something?" Athos enquired with a tired smile.

"Generally," Porthos agreed, nodding thoughtfully. 

Aramis got to his feet. "We were - discussing the evening's possibilities," he said carefully. 

"Wine, women and song?" Athos enquired, leaning against the edge of the table wearily.

Porthos grinned. "More like supper, sex and sleeping arrangements."

Athos looked from one to the other, noting the colluding glances that passed between them and suspecting that his comment about plotting had been nearer the mark than he'd thought. "What are you up to?"

"Us? Nothing," Aramis smiled, linking his arm through Athos'. "We were just thinking we'd like to - show our appreciation," he murmured.

Porthos rose from the bench and took Athos' other arm firmly, patting his hand. 

Athos hid a smile. "Is this a seduction or an arrest?" he protested as they lead him out of the barracks. 

"Which would you prefer?" Porthos grinned. "I've got a set of manacles somewhere. We could combine the two."

"He's kidding," Aramis murmured reassuringly. "I think."

"Do let me know if I need to consider running away at any point," Athos retorted, but he didn't resist as they pulled him along in the direction of Aramis' rooms.

It was a warm evening, and Aramis threw open the shutters to let in the air. A blackbird was singing in the garden and beyond the wall the noises of Paris at dusk were a comforting background bustle. 

They ate a light supper, then sat talking quietly over the remains of the meal as the last of the daylight faded around them. 

When it was getting too dark to see, Aramis set about lighting the lamps until the rooms slowly filled with a cosy glow. He remained standing, gazing down at Athos with a fond expression that he masked as soon as Athos looked up.

"Athos my friend," Aramis said quietly and rather formally, "would you care to join us?"

Athos glanced over at Porthos, who winked at him but said nothing. Aramis held out his hand, and Athos took it without hesitation, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

Once standing, Aramis kept hold of his hand, his slender fingers with their deceptive strength curled into his palm. He drew Athos into the adjoining bedchamber without another word, the creak of the floorboards suggesting that Porthos was following.

Aramis finally drew his hand out of Athos' grasp, coming to stand behind him and placing both hands on his shoulders. "Will you do as we say?" Aramis whispered, his lips next to Athos' ear. "Will you trust us tonight, Athos?"

"Always," Athos breathed. He felt Aramis' lips curve into a smile against his ear, and then press a kiss to his neck as a reward.

"You're ours tonight," Aramis continued, his hands moving slowly down Athos' arms now, before settling at his waist. "Ours to take apart. Ours to break." Another kiss, feather-light, on the other side of his neck. Athos swallowed, but he hadn't been asked a direct question this time, so remained silent.

Aramis nodded approvingly. "Ours to mend again," he added, glancing at Porthos, who was leaning against the wall out of Athos' sightline, watching avidly. 

Porthos gave Aramis a nod of encouragement. "Ours to love," he murmured, just loud enough for Athos to catch.

"You will not speak, unless you are told to," Aramis continued in a low tone that was all silky steel. "You will not touch yourself, unless you are told to. You will not come, unless you are told to. Do you understand?" His hand had moved from Athos' waist to his crotch, and he could tell Athos was already aroused. He gave no more than an assessing squeeze before removing his hand again.

"Yes." Athos was still staring straight ahead, Aramis pressed against his back.

"I'm going to hurt you," Aramis said, in same level tone. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Athos' voice was unsteady with need, and Aramis rewarded him with a third brief kiss, to the nape of the neck. 

"And do you welcome this?"

"Yes. _Please_ , yes."

Aramis tugged Athos' hair sharply, a reminder to only volunteer the most minimal responses. 

"Then take off your clothes." Aramis stepped back a pace, and Athos immediately missed the warmth of his body. 

Quickly he moved to obey, shedding his boots and breeches and peeling off his shirt with a haste that left him tangled in its lacings.

"Sloppy," came Aramis' dry comment as Athos fought off the material enveloping his head. "Poor execution." His words were accompanied by a chuckle from Porthos, and when Athos finally succeeded in freeing himself from his clothing he found Porthos had moved closer, settling into a chair by the side of the bed.

Athos lost no time in stripping off the remainder of his underclothes, and stood naked before their scrutiny. Aramis walked around him, still dressed, eyes roaming his body assessingly.

"What do you think, Porthos?" he called.

"I think he's standing to attention in more ways than one," Porthos smirked. 

Aramis, currently on the part of his circuit that took him behind Athos, lifted his gaze from an appreciation of Athos' backside to give Porthos a look intended to indicate they were supposed to be taking this seriously. 

Porthos cackled, then regarded Athos consideringly. "I think he's just begging to be fucked," he pronounced, this time with a straight face. 

"I think he'd look better on his knees, don't you?" Aramis asked conversationally. "Athos. Down." 

Athos obeyed silently, dropping to his knees on the woollen rug. It should have been humiliating, but the intent gaze of his two fully clothed lovers was making him hot all over. He longed for more than this, longed for one of them to touch him in some way, but knew that to speak would be a mistake. It would probably make Aramis tease him for even longer before moving on to the physical side.

Aramis finally came to a stop just in front of him, and gestured for Porthos to come and join him. 

"It has been your custom to wear something about your neck," Aramis said quietly. 

Athos looked directly at him for the first time, surprised that he would bring up such a topic. Aramis looked down into his wary but trusting expression, and smiled slightly.

"I have something for you," Aramis continued. "Something for you to wear instead, if you are willing. Something that marks you as _ours_ , instead." He brought his hand into Athos' line of vision, and showed him what he was holding. A leather collar, finely tooled and stitched, as one might find on a particularly valuable hunting dog. But it looked bigger than that, and Aramis drew it through his free hand, just in front of Athos' face.

"I had it made, especially," he murmured, stroking the end of the collar across Athos' cheek. The new leather was supple but firm, and had an appealing smell. 

"Will you wear it for us Athos? Will you be ours?" Aramis whispered, and now he and Porthos got down on their knees as well, and Aramis held out his hands as if in supplication, the leather strap lying across them. 

"It means we'll look after you," Porthos said quietly. "Always. It lets you _know_ we'll always be there."

Athos reached out with hands that shook slightly, and picked up the collar, running his fingers wonderingly across the carefully worked design. "For me?" he breathed.

"For you, Athos. Only for you," Aramis promised. He took the collar back and held it up questioningly. Athos nodded immediately, and bowed his head low to give Aramis easy access to put it on him.

Above his head Aramis and Porthos exchanged a smile that was loaded with emotion, and as Porthos swept Athos' hair out of the way with a gentle hand, Aramis passed the collar about his throat and fastened the buckle at the back of his neck. Testing with a finger to make sure it wasn't too tight, Aramis touched Athos on the shoulder and he straightened up.

Athos lifted his hands automatically, then hesitated. He hadn't been told he could touch it. "May I?" he asked, rather hoarsely. Aramis nodded, and Athos ran his fingers around the leather, exploring the shape and feel of it, the unaccustomed weight, the unexpected feeling of security it was already giving him. He finally let his hands fall to his thighs, and looked at them both.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Porthos leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, before silently getting to his feet again and retreating to his chair. Aramis kissed him too, standing up but staying where he was. He picked something up from the bed and showed it to Athos. A silk scarf.

Athos stayed quite still as Aramis tied it around his eyes. The loss of vision was more restful than disorienting, and his breathing slowed as he listened to the telltale sounds of Aramis moving around the room. The creak of a floorboard, the rustle of clothing, the clink of a glass bottle. He guessed Aramis was undressing, maybe pulling back the bedclothes. Perhaps setting out oils ready for intimate uses. The anticipation was making him hard again, and he licked his lips. 

Naked and blind and on his knees, Athos should have felt vulnerable, but here, in this place, with these men - he'd never felt safer. The last week had been hard for him, the sheer noise in his head making it hard for him to sleep, to eat, to concentrate. That they had noticed, without him having to say anything, and had taken action accordingly - Athos was more grateful than words could express. They were offering him peace, a chance to be still, and centre himself. And they, as so many times before, would be the rock on which he steadied himself.

The quiet telltale noises had stopped, and Athos opened his eyes, looking fruitlessly into the folds of the scarf for a moment before closing them again. He could make out vague light and shadow but nothing else and wondered what they were doing, whether they were looking at him. Not for a second did he consider they might have left him alone.

Sure enough, after a moment a gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder and Aramis' voice gave him a terse order. 

"On your feet."

Athos got up, knees protesting slightly. With his balance thrown by the blindfold he would have stumbled, but Aramis grasped his arm and guided him forward. His knees hit the edge of the bed, and Aramis let go.

"Bend over."

It was a large, high bed, the top of the covers coming to mid-thigh and Athos let himself sprawl forwards, grateful for a moment that his hands hadn't been tied. The thought prompted him to wonder why Aramis was now apparently wearing riding gloves. Perhaps he hadn't undressed after all Athos thought, but then Aramis' unmistakeably bare leg brushed his and he frowned. Was he _only_ wearing gloves?

The image sent a shiver of arousal through him, and Athos shifted slightly, rubbing his cock against the counterpane. A gloved hand immediately slapped down on his arse, a sharp, stinging rebuke.

"You were told no touching yourself!" Aramis reminded him coldly. 

Athos didn't argue that technically he hadn't. Disobeying the spirit of an order was just as bad as disobeying the letter of it. And besides, the slap had sent a far more intense jolt of pleasure through him than had been achieved by merely pushing against the bed.

He considered doing it again, just to give Aramis the excuse, but apparently that wasn't going to be necessary. Aramis had laid both hands on Athos' backside, his fingers splayed out in the rough leather of his gloves. 

"You need a lesson," Aramis told him in a low voice. "A measure of correction." He lifted his hands away and Athos experienced a moment of still, sweet tension before one of them smacked down again across his arse. He bit his lip and buried his face in the covers, unsure if the instruction not to speak also covered groaning in a filthy manner.

The hand descended a third time, and a fourth, the worn leather of the gloves hardened and shiny from long use and exposure to the rain and sweat and friction. His skin was stinging where the blows landed, and he clutched the bedclothes convulsively, gritting his teeth with the effort not to make a sound. 

Aramis continued, his hand rising and falling in a punishing rhythm, and Athos felt a tingling heat radiate throughout his body. He was fully hard, his swollen cock pressed up against his belly, and he had to fight the urge to start rutting against the covers in earnest.

By the time Aramis finished, Athos was panting for breath and struggling to keep his composure. He could still feel the imprint of Aramis' hand on his flesh, but once it became apparent no more blows were forthcoming he slowly relaxed again.

Hands rolled him over onto his back; for a second he thought it was Porthos, but no, instead it seemed Aramis had removed the gloves. Athos smiled faintly at the fact he could tell them apart even blindfolded, from the shape of their hands and manner of their touch, from the way they each had their own distinct smell, of soap and hair oil and horses and leather and gunpowder. Even the sound of their breathing was subtly different. 

Porthos, he judged, was still in the chair, watching. He would sit apart, and in Athos' most compromised moments, or those where he could not speak for himself, would step in if he felt Aramis was in danger of going too far.

His smile had not gone unnoticed, and Aramis was quick to pounce on it.

"You think it's funny, to be spanked like a child?" he enquired. "Perhaps we should make you stand on a chair in the corner, or go to bed without supper?"

"Bit late for that," Athos murmured, then winced. It had, technically, been a question, but probably a rhetorical one.

"If you're going to answer back, I shall have to gag you," Aramis said smoothly. "Perhaps I shall." He studied Athos with a smile, safe in the knowledge he couldn't see it. Athos was lying back, his knees dangling over the edge of the bed and his arms thrown carelessly wide, his cock sticking up lewdly. The dark band of the collar drew Aramis' eyes to his throat, and he felt his own cock give a throb of arousal.

Athos looked the very picture of flushed, dishevelled perfection, and Aramis could hardly wait to fuck him. But Athos was still too aware, too conscious of his own thoughts, still too ready with a quick response. Aramis would need to work on him a while yet.

"Move back," he instructed. "Onto the bed properly."

Athos obediently shuffled backwards until his head was near the pillows and his feet were drawn up on the bed. He felt the mattress dip as Aramis joined him, and wondered what was coming.

A moment later Athos felt Aramis take hold of one of his hands, drawing it up above his head. Guessing the intent he didn't resist, and wasn't surprised when he felt a cord being drawn around his wrist and fastened tightly.

It was probably the tie that usually held back the drapes around the bed, a thick plaited cord that was soft against his skin but strong enough not to give. Aramis had used them to good purpose before, and Athos lifted his other arm without needing to be asked.

He heard Aramis give a quiet laugh. 

"So eager," Aramis murmured. "So desperate." He fastened Athos' right wrist to the other bed post, leaving him spreadeagled and helpless. It was a wide bed, big enough to accommodate the three of them, and Aramis knew Athos' shoulders would soon be aching from the position alone.

Athos felt Aramis lie down alongside him, the opposite side from where, as far as he could tell, Porthos still sat. Then he felt warm breath on his lips, and realised Aramis was leaning right over him, face inches from his own, and stopped trying to picture the room as a whole, focussing purely on the man lying against his side.

A hand wrapped briefly around his cock, taking him by surprise. It was drawn firmly up the length of him, just once, then was gone, but it had been enough to make him gasp.

"Shhh," Aramis chided, drawing the sound out quietly. He drew a fingernail up Athos' chest, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to made him shudder with pleasure.

"Are you strong, Athos?" Aramis murmured confidingly. "Do you consider yourself a strong person?"

Athos didn't reply, unsure if he was meant to, and Aramis leaned closer. "Answer me," he breathed, his lips brushing Athos' as he formed the words.

Athos swallowed, breathing unsteadily through parted lips. "I have to be," he whispered.

"Why?" Aramis prompted, murmuring the question against Athos' mouth.

"It - is expected," Athos managed, clearly having trouble forming an answer.

"You're not on duty now, Athos." Aramis closed the gap, pressed a light kiss to his lips, then moved out of range when Athos tried to kiss him back. "Do you still have to be strong?"

Athos hesitated. "Yes." 

"Why?" Aramis stroked a thumb across Athos' cheek, cradling his face in one hand.

"I have to - hold together," Athos confessed under his breath. "Or risk falling apart."

"Is that a bad thing?" Aramis crooned, still stroking Athos' face, fingers brushing the edge of the blindfold, knowing it was helping Athos be more honest than he otherwise might feel capable of. "When you have such willing hands to put you back together?" He kissed him again, tutting in amusement when Athos again tried to maintain the contact and follow him as he moved back.

"There are - parts of me I would rather not study too closely," Athos muttered.

"And you fear this? You feel afraid?"

There was a long pause before Athos reluctantly answered. "I feel guilty."

"Why?" Aramis moved his hand, stroking Athos' hair now, tenderly, encouragingly.

"You know why."

"Tell me."

"Because - because of _her_."

"Because you tried to kill her, or because you let her live?"

"Because once - I loved her. And now I do not."

"And it is _this_ you feel guilt for?" Aramis studied his lover with compassionate eyes and ached to hold him. But it was not the time, and his, tonight, was not the role.

"Yes." Soundless, Athos' lips formed the word.

"She is gone, Athos. You are free of her, regardless of what she says. It can be - has to be - you that decides that. Not her. She is gone, and we are still here. I won't tell you to forget her. But know that you have people who love you Athos. People who ask nothing, require nothing of you. And you are here, and we are here, and here, tonight, you don't have to be strong Athos."

A tear escaped from under the blindfold, tracked down Athos cheek. Aramis didn't draw attention to it, simply kissed him again, moth-light. This time Athos made no effort to deepen it, to control it, just smiled sadly against the pressure of his lips.

Aramis sat up, satisfied, and rested a hand on Athos' chest. "I know what you want, Athos. What you need. I'll give it to you, if you still wish it?"

Athos nodded, mouth working fruitlessly for a second before he could form a choked and pleading, "Yes."

Taking him at his word, Aramis moved further down the bed and pushed Athos' legs apart, none too gently. Athos spread them instinctively, letting Aramis manhandle him until his knees were pushed up and Aramis could settle between them.

Aramis bent down, trailing his tongue lightly down the pale skin of Athos' inner thigh. He let his lips form a seal, sucking sharply for a moment before biting down, hard.

Athos gave a startled gasp that turned immediately into a groan, and Aramis smiled to himself. He worked his mouth lower, along the thinner, softer skin nearer the top of Athos' leg, and bit again, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark.

Athos bucked his hips upwards instinctively, and Aramis pushed him back down to the bed. His cock, which had softened slightly during the earlier conversation, was fully hard again, and Aramis' hair brushed against it as he knelt between Athos' legs, alternately biting and sucking a trail of livid marks down both his thighs.

When Athos was shaking with the effort of holding his knees up for so long, Aramis finally took pity on him and moved up a little, taking Athos' cock into his mouth without warning.

Athos let out a breath of surprise and Aramis sucked down on him, before lifting slowly back off, grazing lightly with his teeth. It wasn't something he'd particularly have wanted done to himself, but Athos gave a strangled noise of approval, and Aramis smirked inwardly. 

He carried this on for some time until he felt Athos was dangerously near coming, whether allowed to or not. Stifled, agonised whimpers were issuing from between clamped lips as Athos tried to keep it all in, and every muscle in his stomach was taut.

Aramis sat back and wrapped a firm hand around the base of Athos' cock.

"Control yourself," he ordered. Athos spent a minute occupied with some serious heavy breathing before he finally nodded.

Aramis let him go, dragging his fingernails across Athos' side instead, and he jerked violently.

"Please," Athos begged, almost inaudible.

"What was that?" Aramis said dangerously, but Athos either didn’t notice his tone or was too far gone to care.

"Please. Fuck me. I need - I can't - please." 

Aramis crawled back up the bed, until he was leaning over Athos' chest. 

"Did I say you could speak?" he asked, with a deceptively cheerful tone. 

Athos shook his head mutely.

"I didn’t think so." Aramis ran a speculative fingernail across Athos' chest. "You know the rules, Athos. The only time you get to speak unbidden, is if you're asking me to stop." He removed his finger, the last physical contact between them. "Did you want me to stop, Athos?"

"No," Athos said immediately, shaking his head for emphasis. "I'm sorry, Aramis, I won’t say another word."

"And yet, you're still talking," Aramis sighed. "What to do, what to do. I think I'm going to have to gag you. But - with what?" 

With a sudden movement he straddled Athos' chest, and pushed his cock roughly against Athos' lips. Athos immediately opened his mouth, tongue pushed slightly out.

Aramis tutted. "So eager, to be stopped at both ends. So _cheap_." He lifted himself up on his knees and Athos tipped his head back, the better to accommodate him. Distantly, he was aware of another movement on the bed as Porthos repositioned himself to retain a line of sight, but it was entirely peripheral, his world now was the pull of muscles in his arms, the weight of Aramis on his chest, the burn as he fed his cock into his throat.

Athos swallowed convulsively as Aramis pushed his cock further into his willing mouth, swallowed again and almost gagged, the collar suddenly feeling tight around his neck.

"Aramis." Porthos reached out a warning hand, and Aramis pulled back.

Athos coughed, gasping for breath from a raw throat, and felt Porthos rest a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, so his cheek was pressed to the back of Porthos' hand, and was rewarded with a thumb rasping affectionately against his beard. 

"You alright?" Porthos asked quietly.

Athos mastered himself, and nodded. "Yes."

"You want Aramis to continue?"

"Yes," Athos whispered.

"Alright." He could hear the smile in Porthos' voice, and it made him smile back. The hand caressing his cheek turned his head back to face Aramis, and a thumb stroked over his lower lip, opening his mouth for Aramis to push his cock between his lips a second time.

This time Aramis didn't thrust quite so deeply, but he used Athos' mouth roughly and fast, until he was forced to pull back a second time, not because Athos was too close to coming but because he was. He climbed off, holding himself tightly and ignoring the amused look Porthos was giving him.

Athos opened his mouth to protest at being abandoned, then thought better of it and remained silent. He was feeling rather dazed by now, the prolonged and enforced blindness was disorientating, and it had been hard to breathe while Aramis had been using his mouth. It felt like most of the blood in his body had converged on his cock, leaving him achingly hard, and what was left was buzzing in his ears.

The bed creaked and dipped as Aramis moved about, but by now Athos was content to lie there without speculating as to his intent. Whatever it was, it would take him to the edge of his endurance, he was sure of that much. He could still feel the faint throb of the bite marks on his thighs, the red line of Aramis' fingernails across his chest. All that was just the beginning, the build up, the foreplay. And as Aramis' hands came to rest on his knees, hoisting them up into their earlier position, Athos let out a shuddering sigh of contentment, in the certain knowledge that finally, Aramis was going to fuck him.

Beneath the blindfold, Athos closed his eyes. He took a breath, let it out, relaxing himself as much as he could in a body wound tight with anticipation. Aramis would not be gentle, he knew that much. Nor did he want him to be. 

He'd always had a predilection for pain, but not until Aramis and Porthos had come into his life had he known it could be like this. They'd taken what he'd seen as a shameful and dangerous secret and turned it into something that left him feeling more peaceful and fulfilled than he'd known was physically possible. That not one, but two people should not only understand what he needed, but at the same time take their own pleasure from it rather than see it as a burden or peculiar duty? He was truly blessed, where once he had thought himself cursed.

His breath hitched as he felt a hand between his legs, an oiled finger stroking wetly over his hole. There'd been a time, mercifully brief, that he'd believed to experience what he thought he wanted, it was necessary to let men take him in any way they would. Aramis and Porthos had shown him how a little easement could open doors to a whole new world of endurance and pleasure, as hard and rough as he might want it. How pain could be erotic without being harmful. 

It had turned out Aramis was also a fucking tease. 

Whereas Porthos generally had no patience with overly complicated and drawn out preliminaries, and would get down to the essentials with an admirable swiftness as far as Athos was concerned - Aramis had decided that if Athos liked pain, then he would introduce a whole new level, and could keep him on the edge for ages, licking and stroking and generally driving Athos out of his mind, all under the constraint of not being allowed to either come, which was agony, or speak, which was generally understood to mean he was allowed to groan but not swear.

And he wanted to swear right now, he really fucking did. 

Aramis had two fingers inside him, twisting like he was trying to pick a lock and Athos would have laughed at the mental image if he'd had the breath. He was certainly falling open under the touch, defences thrown as wide as his legs, and no, the laugh was definitely coming, bubbling up from somewhere in the pit of his stomach and emerging finally in a stifled noise that was just as close to a sob.

Athos grasped at the cords leading from his wrists off into the blind dark, trying to find purchase on something, wrapping his fingers around them, revelling in the way the material dragged at his skin. There would be marks tomorrow, marks on his wrists that the lace of his shirt would have to hide. He would walk into the barracks knowing his breeches hid livid bruises all up his thighs, and - could he wear the collar? Athos briefly wished his hands were free so he could touch it again. If he wore a scarf about his neck, no-one would see it. No-one would know, other than him. It already felt part of him, and he knew he would feel its loss if he had to take it off so soon.

Aramis was still working him, and for a moment Athos envied Porthos being able to watch this, to see those well kept hands more used to cradling a musket all glistening with oils, their long, elegant fingers put to such filthy, intimate use, unashamedly fucking him open, sending shocks though his body that made him jerk and moan.

The fingers disappeared and Athos gave a plaintive noise of protest, just having the presence of mind not to form any actual words. He heard, or thought he heard, Porthos give a low laugh, somewhere off to his side. 

A second later he discovered what Porthos had been watching when he felt Aramis press against him, not with fingers this time, but the head of his cock. Athos went still, throat dry and stomach clenched, waiting. Aramis played with him for a while, rubbing his cock between Athos' legs, nudging into him a little way only to pull out again. Athos didn’t need to be able to see the smirk on his lips to know it was there. 

Finally, unexpectedly, Aramis thrust all the way in with one smooth movement. Athos arched his back in exultant, gasping pleasure at the flare of pain as his body stretched to accommodate Aramis' cock. 

Porthos was bigger, but he was also wary of his strength, and tended to rein himself in even when fucking Athos half-senseless, knowing he could easily do him real harm. Aramis had no such qualms. Oiled and hard, he hoisted Athos' legs around him unceremoniously and started pounding into him without mercy. 

In the beginning, Aramis had felt almost guilty over how much he enjoyed this. To take pleasure from inflicting pain - it went against everything he'd thought he believed. But as their bond and trust had grown, he'd come to understand not just how deeply Athos appreciated it, but how genuinely it filled a need in him. 

Early on in their relationship Aramis had assumed Athos' needs stemmed from a desire to simply feel punished. Coming to understand that he derived genuine sexual pleasure from it had allowed Aramis to let himself go, and now he found a heady freedom in the way Athos would let them both fuck him like this. 

Aramis knew Porthos would step in if he decided things had gone too far - as indeed would Aramis on nights their roles were reversed. It had taken them a while to decide on what worked best, and for someone to remain outside the bubble of frenzied coupling allowed all of them to relax. And it wasn't as if Porthos wouldn't get to come. The night was yet young.

For now, Aramis concentrated on fucking Athos as hard and as brutally as he could. Athos was spread for him, helpless and pliant, bound and blindfold, collar buckled firmly around his neck. Aramis ran his fingers through the sheen of sweat on Athos' belly, reaching hungrily up his chest through its trail of darker hair. Athos' throat worked painfully as he gasped and swallowed, the shadows of his beard and the leather collar contrasting sharply against his pale skin, chest heaving as he took laboured breaths. 

Aramis leaned forward, changing his angle and making Athos squirm and moan beneath him. He reached further, sliding fingers beneath the leather of the strap and twisting his hand slightly, bringing pressure on Athos' throat.

He could feel Athos' cock like iron between them, wet against his own stomach, surely aching to high hell. Aramis tightened his grip on Athos' throat, thrusting into him harder, knowing it would be difficult for him to breathe, knowing too it would make everything he was experiencing that much more intense.

Aramis strained upward, close to his climax and determined to wring the last inches of sensation from Athos' shaking body before he came.

Athos' whole body was tense beneath him, corded muscles standing out on his outstretched arms, face flushed and lips parted as he struggled for breath.

Aramis felt a touch on his arm, and glanced up to see Porthos gesture to his own mouth. Aramis nodded understanding, lessening the pressure of the collar slightly.

"Athos," he said, finding his own voice breathless and brittle. He swallowed, licking his lips. He had to sound in control. "Athos, you may speak now, do you understand?" Aramis continued more firmly, all the while still pounding into him with a rough, fast stroke.

" _Aramis._ " Athos sounded raw and shattered, and Aramis' mouth curved into a smile. 

"Tell me what you want," Aramis commanded. "I want to hear you beg, Athos."

"Please." It was barely a breath, as if Athos had no strength left to form words. "Please Aramis."

"Please what?" Aramis twisted his fingers tighter into the leather collar again and Athos made a noise of sheer desperation. Aramis lessened the hold again and Athos dragged in a shuddering breath.

"Please. I need to come. It hurts, Aramis. Please."

Aramis' smile was hard, even though Athos couldn't see it. "I thought you liked it to hurt," he said tauntingly. "I should keep this up all night."

"I can't - " Athos took another half-choking breath. "I can't hold on."

"But you have to. I say so. Do as you're _told_ , Athos."

Athos moaned quietly, biting down on his lip with the effort not to come. Aramis had fucked him to a weak and shuddering surrender and all he could think of now was how much he needed release. Unable to withstand any more, Athos still half dreaded the end, sensing how devastating his comedown would surely be.

"What do you say Porthos?" Aramis asked brightly. "Should we let him come yet?"

Porthos smiled, enjoying the spectacle of Athos this fucked out and desperate. He nodded slowly. "He's been good. Make him come," he murmured, loud enough for Athos to catch his words.

"Hear that?" Aramis hissed, twisting the collar again. "Porthos wants to see you come. Wants to see you spill your seed for us," he continued, tone low and dirty. "Can you do that? Come for us Athos, come for us now," he ordered, and coupled his words with a renewed onslaught, hoping to reach his own orgasm at the same time as Athos.

Given permission, Athos came almost immediately, his release shooting between them in thick spurts, shaking from head to toe as Aramis came inside him, a sudden shockingly intimate warmth. With the overwhelming sensations wracking his body, Athos finally lost all awareness of everything else and gave himself up utterly. 

When it was over, Aramis pulled out as carefully as he could and rolled away, exhausted and dizzy from his own climax. Porthos was already on the bed at Athos' side, unfastening the cords from his wrists, nimble fingers unpicking knots made tight from Athos straining against them.

By now Athos was taking great sobbing breaths that had a pitch of hysteria to them and Porthos gathered him into his arms, cradling him against his chest and rocking him gently.

"It's alright," Porthos whispered, "you're okay Athos, I've got you." He held him tightly, feeling Athos shuddering against him, giving him time to come back to himself.

He looked over Athos' head at where Aramis was sitting up and wiping himself, looking more than a little dazed himself. Aramis took a needy mouthful of the wine Porthos had carried in with him earlier, his throat dry.

"You alright?" Porthos mouthed.

Aramis nodded, smiling with a tired satisfaction. "Is Athos?" he asked quietly.

"Course he is." Porthos kissed Athos on the top of his head, squeezing him with a fierce affection. "Ain't you?"

Athos managed a weak nod and Porthos laughed, delighted. Wearing an open unlaced shirt and nothing else, his own hard cock was pressed snugly and unregarded against Athos' side. For a long while he stayed just holding Athos against his body, stroking his hair and occasionally nuzzling him. 

"I'm going to take the blindfold off, alright?" Porthos murmured once Athos' heartrate had returned to something slower than that of a panicking wild bird, and his breathing was calmer.

Athos gave a mumbled noise of assent, and Porthos untangled the folds of cloth from his hair, loosening the scarf and drawing it away from his eyes. Athos blinked up at him, and Porthos grinned.

"God, but you look beautiful in bits," he growled, and kissed Athos softly on the mouth.

Athos smiled, still beyond speech, his fingers curling into the loose material of Porthos' shirt. Aramis moved over to join them, adding his arms to Porthos' and holding Athos close.

They stayed like that, Athos pressed between them in a warm, safe embrace, until he finally recovered the strength to raise his head and look at them.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Both of you."

Aramis kissed him on the temple and grinned. "It speaks!" 

Athos gave a quiet huff of laughter and nudged him with his shoulder. "Shut up," he croaked.

"Thought I was giving the orders tonight?" Aramis teased. He kissed Athos again, this time on the mouth, infinitely more gently than anything he'd done earlier, then moved back, letting Porthos keep charge of him. 

"How you feeling?" Porthos enquired, adjusting his hold so Athos was half-curled in his lap.

In answer, Athos just smiled up at him, leaning his head against Porthos' shoulder. Now he'd calmed down, Athos looked blissed out beyond mere words and Porthos gave a rumble of fond laughter.

"Somebody's in a state of grace," he smiled. "Want me to bring you back down to earth with the rest of us mortals?"

Athos let his hand slide down to fondle Porthos' cock, suggesting he wasn't quite as zoned out as he looked, and Porthos laughed. "Right then."

He lay Athos back down against the bed and looked up to discover Aramis was already holding out the phial of oil to him. 

"Want me to help?" Aramis asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Can't keep your hands off me, I know," Porthos grinned. He let Aramis wrap a hand around him, slick and wet, and felt himself stiffening further under enthusiastic fingers.

Athos was lying quietly beside them, head resting on one outstretched arm, patient and willing. Porthos settled at his back, arranging him in a comfortable sprawl and letting his fingers explore between Athos' legs. He guided himself forward, pushing slowly into Athos' body. Already wet and open, Porthos eased slowly inside him, making Athos groan quietly with renewed pleasure. The feeling of being filled again so soon with his body still so sensitive prompted a heady rush of arousal, and Athos soon felt his cock swelling a second time.

Porthos was big and hard inside him, but moving with a tenderness and care that made Athos sigh with contentment. Porthos had a hand around his cock, stroking him as gently as he was making love to him, all the time pressing kisses to the back of Athos' neck and whispering of how much he loved him.

With Porthos pressed against him, holding him, touching him, inside him, Athos soon came for a second time, less dramatic than the first but just as intense. Exhausted and yielding, he rode Porthos' own orgasm with fluttering breath and lowered lashes, shivering with the lingering spasms of his own climax.

With sticky thighs and aching body, in a state of half collapse, Athos rolled into Porthos' arms once more. Aramis came to lie behind him, folding the blankets over them, and the three of them tangled together in sated exhaustion.

They dozed for almost an hour, drifting in and out of sleep, only shifting occasionally to move a cramped arm or pull the covers back over a chilly shoulder.

Porthos was the first to sit up again, having fallen asleep completely only to jerk himself awake with an unexpectedly loud snore. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, trying to reach the wineglass Aramis had left on the side table without disturbing Athos, who was draped over his right leg and had an arm thrown over his stomach.

A protesting noise somewhere from beneath the mop of hair sticking out of the covers suggested he'd failed. 

"What're you doing?" Athos complained indistinctly.

"I wanted a drink," Porthos explained, taking the opportunity to stretch further over and seize the goblet, given that Athos was now awake anyway.

"Someone say something about a drink?" Aramis looked up sleepily from over Athos' shoulder.

"Yeah, I was saying you should go and get some more," Porthos smirked, draining what was left in the glass and settling back with his arm around Athos.

"Why me?" Aramis grumbled.

"It's your wine," Porthos told him.

"Which _you're_ drinking."

"For the love of God, somebody go," Athos interrupted with his eyes still closed.

"You go then," Aramis yawned, too comfortable to want to move, however much he also now wanted a drink.

"Can't," Athos said with a distinct air of smugness. "Can't walk. Your fault."

Porthos sniggered and Aramis rolled his eyes. "Fine." He threw back the covers far enough to draw complaints from both his bed-mates, and stalked back into the parlour, ignoring the appreciative whistle Porthos sent after him at the view of his bare behind.

While he was gone, Porthos wriggled down in the bed again and kissed Athos slowly and lingeringly before dipping his head to run his tongue between the band of the collar and Athos' neck. The stiff new leather had chafed slightly, and he licked along the reddened skin with a slow tenderness. 

Athos murmured wordless approval, stretching luxuriously and settling more comfortably against him, craning his head back against the pillow to give Porthos better access.

Aramis returned with a flagon of wine and two more goblets, pausing to watch the scene with a fond smile. He climbed back in beside them and pressed Porthos into service as another pair of hands.

The wine had a reviving effect, especially on Athos, who resumed taking a more bright-eyed interest in proceedings. 

Finally feeling recovered enough to haul themselves off the bed, they gathered around the washstand, Athos leaning on Porthos and pretending he wasn't, and Aramis flicking water at them both until Porthos glowered at him. 

When they'd all cleaned up to their satisfaction, Aramis was despatched a second time, grumbling, to fetch the remains of the meal from the table, as everyone discovered the evening's exertion had left them ravenous.

They finished it off in good humour, tucked companionably together into the warm bedding. A stifled yawn from Athos soon set everyone off, and it wasn't long before they were settling down for the night.

"Are you going to sleep with that on?" Porthos asked quietly, running a finger along the leather collar as Aramis moved about the outer room, dousing the candles. "It might rub."

Athos lifted a mildly defensive hand to his throat, and Porthos laughed. "It's alright. Nobody's going to try and take it away."

"Good." Athos lay down and pulled Porthos' arm around him. "Because I wouldn't let you."

Porthos wriggled up against him and bit lightly at his shoulder. "You like it then?" he murmured. "We chose well?"

Aramis grinned as he joined them in the bed. "We chose Athos. That was a good start," he interrupted.

Holding his arm out for Aramis to tuck himself in tightly against him on the other side, Athos smiled without speaking. Lying here between the two of them, he felt completed in a way he'd never felt with anyone else. He knew, too, that they required no flowery declarations from him, that his silent love for them was cherished and understood.

Aramis blew out the one remaining candle, and Athos relaxed into warm arms. His fingers drifted back to the collar still about his throat, and he smiled into the darkness. He was where he belonged, with the people he belonged to, and knew that for the first time in a long while he could expect a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

\--


End file.
